Morning People
by Zayz
Summary: LJ. On a sudden impulse, she tilts her head so that her lips brush by the soft skin of his ear lobe and she whispers, “So you do believe in romance?” Some nauseating morning fluff. You've been warned. R&R?


**A/N**: Blegh. Fluff. Disgusting, isn't it? Well, I wrote some, and it's post-marital in the early stages…in the morning…just kind of nauseating…but it's okay because writing this sort of thing is rather rare for me.

Thanks to **Liz** (XxIcexX) for taking a quick once-over on this to keep the fluff factor in check.

Hope you find some way to like this.

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**Morning People  
****By: Zayz**

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Pale golden sunlight, musty and gentle, streams in a focused cascade of radiance through the slightly open window, casting a subtle glow of honey around the bedroom. The air temperature is mild, the ambiance seeming untouched from the rest of reality; everything is still, quiet, like the world is holding its breath in the early morning, waiting for something to stir so that the rest can follow.

She is beginning to wake now, the placid sun coaxing her eyelids open as tenderly as only nature knows how. She doesn't move, although her eyes – green like new leaves in spring – are focusing in a little on her surroundings, taking in the minute details of this peculiar place.

There's something raw about the atmosphere; about the way her red hair is erratically obvious on the surface of her creamy-white pillow; about the dryness of her throat, the haziness of her mind like rain-kissed fog; the feeling of comfortable contentment. Her thoughts are faraway as she lies here, her pale shoulders naked and exposed in contrast to her insulated, cocoon-like environment.

Blinking delicately, she yawns and reallocates so that she's facing her right, where her husband lies beside her, not yet conscious.

She feels a smile tug at the corners of her mouth, goosebumps trickling down her spine, as she observes him in his sleep, sunlight playing on his features, illuminating the slight rise and fall of his side of the covers. His vulnerability is fascinating to her; everything about him is made simple in a way that only she can understand and there's a certain satisfaction in that.

More awake now, she scoots closer to him and cuddles in beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and curling her shape around his. She fits right in, listening to him respire and enjoying the intimacy of every breath. Feeling the extra weight next to him, he subconsciously changes position to better accommodate her and snakes his arm around her bare waist, bringing her closer.

Her lips slightly parted, she leans into him and presses her lips to the line of his jaw, her hand finding the spot where she can feel his heart beat beneath her palm. When she withdraws her mouth, she watches as his eyelids flicker with recognition, awareness, fragile realization. She rubs his chest just a little bit and kisses his jaw a second time, softer than rose petals, and she waits, waits for him to let the sun coax his eyelids open too.

It takes him a few moments, but his eyes open more quickly than hers do and he balances on his side, his focus on her and only her. He smiles, achingly lovely with golden light reflecting off the hazel of his irises, and his lips smoothly capture hers with the sweetest of pressures.

They kiss for a few seconds, their tongues dancing in greeting, and he whispers into her mouth, "Good morning, Lily Flower."

She pulls back from him and snuggles back against his shoulder, letting his hand slide up her naked back and to her hair, which he twirls between his fingers. "Good morning, Jamie," she says, using her silly nickname for him. "Had a good sleep?"

"After last night?" His laughter is mellifluous, but still carefree, loose, affectionate. "Yes, I suppose I did. But it's nice to hold you properly again."

She exhales slowly into his skin. "I don't mind it."

"Excellent." He nibbles delicately on her ear and scatters kisses down the side of her neck, making her squirm restlessly in response. "You know," he murmurs into her collarbone, the sensual tremor in his tone making the finest hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention, "I like you best in the morning."

"Do you?" Her smile has become rather teasing, but her tone matches his intensity as she settles in on top of him, her hips grinding gently but surely against his, adding physical fuel the slowly heating energy between them. "Why is that?"

"Well…" He tilts his head upwards and she closes their distance halfway with another kiss, cutting him off and not relenting until a few moments later to let him say, "I dunno…there's something mildly romantic about sex as the sun rises."

She chuckles, in spite of herself. "Mildly romantic?"

"Sort of," he answers, his grin unapologetic. "You know…the rising sun…new light through the window…you and me, just woken up…making love…" He blows on her ear. "Don't you think it's romantic?"

"Erm…I suppose." She gives his nose a playful nibble. "To be honest, I've never had much time for romance."

"You have time for _me_." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "That counts for something."

She pets his head with a mocking half-smile. "If you say so, dear."

"There's another thing I like about you in the morning – you pretend to be so apathetic when you know I'm amusing you. It's bloody adorable, you know that?" His eyes twinkle as he stares expectantly at her.

She snickers and begins to interlace her legs with his, subconsciously aware of her body's smoldering arousal beginning to unfold in her deepest regions. "You amaze me sometimes, you know that?" she muses. "Even when you act stupidly, you're lovable…and even kind of romantic."

Despite the sincerity behind her words, he can't help but grin teasingly at her and say, "Really? Well, when you're disarmed and think I'm being silly and do things like gnaw at my nose, I think you're being romantic too. We're excellent romantics, aren't we?"

She feels the heat and color rise in her cheeks, and she is about to counter his remark, but he cuts her off with a grin and a kiss on the sensitive skin of her throat, effortlessly killing any words bubbling at the tip of her tongue.

"Shhh," he requests in a whisper, his mouth making its way down to her shoulders, lowering her to his side of the bed so he can continue to travel the expanse of her chest, marking her with his teeth and tongue as if to map her out, re-familiarizing himself with everything about her.

Despite it all, she groans longingly at the slow pace with which he touches her, the sounds coming from within her most arcane recesses; she can feel his body preparing along with hers, measured but quietly passionate, dulcet, simplistically beautiful, as they continue to kiss and his hand cups her right breast.

Her stomach is knotted loosely in anticipation, her cheek against the pillow as he finally pushes into her, the motion as natural as two blades of grass brushing together, every moan smothered by his sweet, purposeful kisses. His body presses against her, all his weight atop her, and every part of them entwines together – like they were meant to be, are supposed to be, are always going to be.

And then comes the part she loves most when they make pure morning love like this together – the moment just after he re-acquaints with her in the most personal way, when their lips separate and he stares right at her and into her, his focused gaze almost more private and raw than the act of sex itself.

He's more vulnerable now than he is when he's lying asleep beside her, more vulnerable than he is when anything in the world happens; he gives himself, wholly and completely, to her and their emotional intimacy reaches its climax.

She tucks his slightly-too-long raven locks behind his ear and closes her eyes, her careful exhale of air intermingling with his as their noses graze by each other. They shift one last time and are back where they were when they awoke, still holding each other close, eyes shut and soaking in the muted intensity of the moment.

The sun is higher in the sky, the sunlight flowing through the window holding a considerably higher concentration of bright yellow now, and it illuminates the black of his hair, the copper of hers, the moisture clinging to the tips of her eyelashes.

Day is breaking just outside their window and she can feel the heat on her bare back, her eyes shut but her mind open, awake, ready. She is comfortable here, happy in the simplest way possible.

On a sudden impulse, she tilts her head so that her lips brush by the soft skin of his ear lobe and she whispers, "So you do believe in romance?"

Somehow, he manages to kiss her again and answers, "You bet."

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**A/N**: Urgh, damned dialogue. It's not all that wonderful, I know, I know, but there's Zay's latest pitiful attempt at writing fluff. Here's the reason why I stick to my usual style of strange, quirky romance; I don't do well with this sort of thing.

Oh well.

Review button's down there. Go make friends with it and tell it all about the silly story you just read! Just be gentle when you tell it how irritating my soft side is...


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